


A scene occurring between a woman and child

by smokefall



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokefall/pseuds/smokefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night of June 5th, alternate take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A scene occurring between a woman and child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atheartagentleman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheartagentleman/gifts).



> for the Les Mis trickortreat exchange. I'm so sorry this is so late, life got intense.

The day after Cosette, her father and Toussaint had arrived in the Rue de l'Homme Arme was dim, hot and endless.

Where it had once been pleasant enough, the larger of the two bedrooms was oppressive, almost hateful; its crime was that it was not the room on the Rue Plumet. But Cosette refused to leave it all the same. She had Toussaint bring some broth to her, and did not make her appearance until evening, whereupon she sat at the table for a number of wordless minutes, and made her best attempt to eat some of the cold chicken that Toussaint had placed there so her father would not be alarmed.

That done, under the pretext of an obstinate headache, she had bade her father goodnight, retrieved her blotting-book from where she had left it the previous night, and shut herself up in her chamber.

Now she lay sleeplessly in her bed, picturing herself at the bottom of a silent valley, or tucked into some deep crater of the moon. Cradled in the high-walled, unspeaking alleys of that ancient district, she felt as if not just her own corner of Paris but the whole of it had been left behind, already distant, a city of memory rather than bricks.

She heard Toussaint trying to tell her father about trouble in the streets; he was in too serene a mood to hear it, and bade Toussaint a good night before retiring. But Cosette sat bolt upright. Paris was not out of reach, it was stirring, and their little household hid in these obscure alleys as if they had no relation to it.

Very well for them!

Her blankets were impossibly hot, the shadows of the room unreally thick. The summer night seemed bent on filling her chamber and choking her in her bed. She put her head out of the window and felt dizzy. Heartsickness was overthrown by horror, and this at last brought life to her limbs, and light to her brain. How had she wasted a day in sulking, when the city might be at war with itself even now!

The apartment was quiet; Toussaint, more accustomed to a proper-sized house, had run out of things to clean and rearrange. Cosette tried to count to a hundred, but the numbers wouldn't line up correctly; she recited her prayers in an agitated tone instead, then let herself out of her room and stole to the door and down the steps to the street.

The summer air, still thick and warm but dampened somewhat by the advance of that shower-scattered June night, brought her some relief; the world was comprehensible to her senses again: shapes of shadow and light resolved into tall houses. She leaned upon the stone post of the gate and waited, for what she could not have said.

The lamp-lighter came and departed. Sounds presented themselves to her: the rattle of a fiacre, a tomcat's yowl, indistinct voices at an unseen door. Could Toussaint have been mistaken? How could this quarter be so indifferent, if rebellion had raised its flag?

Because her father had a gift for seclusion; a way of knowing which streets could be drawn like a veil between their lives and the lives of others.

No sooner had this thought presented itself then a new sound began to reach her, a vague and terrible sound without a name, sliced through with the peals of wrathful bells. What was it! The city dashing itself upon itself, and crying out. In the midst of all these convulsions, the clock of Saint-Paul struck eleven, gravely and without haste; as if in challenge a sharp fusillade cried out.

'Marius!' she cried in response, a word that passed her lips without her command, another sound in the sequence of voices that had been set in motion.

'Marius is engaged. I'm his deputy.' This new voice came from the shadows, accompanied by a wan face. Cosette was already too astonished by what had already passed to do anything more than vaguely greet this interloper, who she saw was a young boy in high spirits and threadbare rags.

'Hullo,' he said, 'You're a woman! What's your business here?'

'This is my house,' she said, in mild bewilderment. Then, 'Do you really come from Marius? Marius Pontmercy? I'm Cosette - did he send you with a message - ?'

'Ah, that was the name.' The boy pulled a letter out of his pocket, and proffered it solemnly.

'It comes from him! Did - did he say anything?'

'Mamselle!' said the boy. 'This is urgent business. It comes from the provisional government. He would not have shouted it to the streets! It is for the people, understand, but it is not for everyone to hear.'

He paused grandly.

'Are you going to open it?'

She did. The lines it contained were written in shaky pencil, but bore themselves upon her as if they had been carved in stone. _Our marriage was impossible_. She trembled. _I hastened to you, and you were no longer there_. The old beast Horror put its hand on her soul once more. _I die. I love you._ She lifted her head.

'Well?' said the boy. 'What must we do?'

As suddenly as the mind can plummet into roiling chaos, it can cease, and be clear and calm. Cosette's mind had done so, and it had thrown up an image from the depths: a single package among the belongings they had brought here, ripped in the haste of the journey, revealing her father's uniform.

'What is your name, young sir?'

'Young sir yourself! I am a citizen of the republic like you, and my name is Gavroche.'

'Well, citizen,' she said. 'We must return at once, of course. Wait for me here.'

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what sending Cosette to he barricades instead of Valjean might do to the events that follow, but I hope it involves her talking some people out of dying.
> 
> Or maybe she'll get shot and go to lesbian heaven with Eponine, idk.


End file.
